


Grease Under His Nails (and Flour on His Nose)

by AngeNoir



Series: Write-Away Giveaway 2 Fills [8]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cooking, M/M, Seducing with cooking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-22
Updated: 2014-06-22
Packaged: 2018-02-05 17:57:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1827148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngeNoir/pseuds/AngeNoir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve doesn't particularly want to like this guy, this guy who is making his ward man the desk in his garage. He also doesn't like the fact that this guy can cook.</p><p>No really... this guy can <em>cook</em>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grease Under His Nails (and Flour on His Nose)

**Author's Note:**

> Last gift, for [irisaya](http://irisaya.tumblr.com). thank you for making me now build this whole universe and want to continue it beyond this one-shot.
> 
> Prompt is as follows:
> 
>  
> 
> _So please write something where Tony’s great in the kitchen (I also have a thing for fine French and Italian cooking/baking as well and it’s something I enjoy making). Maybe he cooks/bakes for the team, maybe he’s a chef/pastry chef, maybe it’s a non-powered AU and it’s partly how he wins over Steve. I’d be happy regardless (and now I want to write/read all of these fml)_

“Can you pick up my Chevy from the garage for me?”

Steve sighed and looked at the clock. “Bucky, brother of mine, you know I’d do anything for you, but—”

There was a snort on the other line. “Steve, I’m stuck pulling another shift because Maria’s damned baby decided today’s the day. I can’t pick it up and if I don’t get it now, I’m gonna have to wait until Monday to pick it up.”

“Why me?” Steve grumbled, but he was already moving to the door.

“Because you’re procrastinating on your thesis. Because you’re a good human being. Because if you don’t I’ll have the perfect excuse to not come to Arthur’s damned bachelor party tomorrow.”

Steve glared hard at the door in front of him. “You told me you’d come.”

“You don’t get my car, I won’t have a ride,” Bucky said, and Steve could _hear_ the bastard’s grin.

“Fine, fine, where the hell is this place, anyhow?”

***

Steve walked into the front office of the garage. It wasn’t one of those corporate ones; come to think of it, it looked pretty run-down and shady. Steve really hoped whatever work Bucky had needed on his car, it hadn’t been a, illegal, and b, too necessary to the car’s functions since work like this never came with a guarantee.

The front doors led into a small room where a high counter hid a desk with a bunch of screens behind it, papers strewn messily about the desk, and a line of chairs to the side of the counter and desk with a battered tiny table with magazines that looked like they had come from the 80s. Grimacing, Steve gingerly moved over to the desk and looked around for some way to signal some human being that he was in the office. On the counter sat a plate of brownies. Steve’s stomach growled.

“If you want one you can have one.”

The only reason Steve didn’t leap into the air from shock and terror was because Clint and Natasha pulled pranks on him all the time, so his instinctive reaction after being terrified was not to jump but to freeze. Whipping around, he realized there was a tiny kid in the corner of the room, tugging at some wires.

“You okay kid?” he asked.

“I’m fine. If you want a brownie you can have one. They’re for customers. You need something done on your bike?”

“No – where’s your parents, kid?”

“Dead.”

“Oh.” Steve paused a moment before saying, “Sorry kid. Mine too. So why’re you here? Your guardian has a car in the shop?” He picked up one of the brownies because he really was very hungry, and hopefully they wouldn’t be like, poison or something, and bit into it.

“Oh my god,” he groaned.

The kid looked up, green eyes bright and warm and smile mischievous. “They’re really good, right?”

“Who _made_ these?” Steve asked, swallowing the rest of his brownie whole and picking up another one.

The kid smirked and leaned back down to finish fooling with the wires, even as the back door of the office that led into the garage banged open.

“That motherfucking son of a bitch!”

Steve whipped around to glare.

The teenager who came through the door – because this kid looked younger than Steve, even if he was only a few inches shorter – glared back. “Whattaya want?”

Steve stared at the teen. His hair was spiked up, gelled to a ridiculous amount, and his nails were grease-stained, hands rough and scarred. He wore a stained and torn tank that hung to mid-thigh over dirt-encrusted jeans and black combat boots. A tattoo crawled up the left arm and wormed under the tank’s sleeve.

“He’s got a bike out front,” the kid said.

The teen craned his head around to glare at the tiny body in the corner. “Harley, you little shit, what did you do to my music?”

“Excuse me, sir, I need to pick up a truck?” Steve said, voice clipped and cold.

The teen focused his attention back on Steve. “A truck?”

“Yeah,” Steve grunted.

“You don’t look like a kid who’d have a truck. And I know everyone who brings me their cars. You aren’t one of them.”

“Who _are_ you?” Steve asked, disgusted.

The kid spread his arms expressively. “Genius, playboy, mechanic. Who are _you_? Some hipster who takes pics of his coffee and black out books to create deep, meaningful poetry?”

“Can I just have the truck?” Steve snarled.

With a laugh, the kid moved over to the desk and flopped down into the chair. “Proof that you’re not here to steal a joyride would be nice.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Steve growled.

“You can swear!” the teenager crowed.

With a disgusted sigh, Steve pulled out his cell and speed-dialed Bucky. It took three tries before Bucky picked up.

“What the hell, Stevie?”

“Tell your jackass mechanic I can take your truck out of the garage.”

“Aw, shit. Hand the phone over.”

Steve shoved his iPhone over at the mechanic, internally wincing at the idea of those dirty fingers smearing his pristine phone.

“An iPhone. That’s perfect,” the mechanic snorted, bringing it up to his ear. “Who you calling asshole, asshole? Yeah, I’m looking at a skinny hipster with floppy hair and too-big puppy eyes. This is your best friend? Yeah, can he even drive your truck? Fuck you too, Barnes.” Shoving the phone back at Steve, he jerked his head towards the garage. “I’ll back the truck up. Tell your friend you weren’t what I was expecting. And stop fucking with my music, Harley!”

Stung, Steve took the phone back and gingerly pressed it to his ear. “ _This_ is who you pick to fix your truck? I hope you didn’t pay much.”

“Tony’s normally pretty laidback, what’d you do to the guy?” Bucky said distractedly. “Whatever, don’t listen to him. He’s a loudmouthed punk with a short guy’s issues.”

“He’s like twelve, what the hell, Buck?” Steve fumed.

Bucky laughed. “He’s twenty-three, Steve, that’s only four years younger than you.”

“No shit,” Steve said, glancing through the door to see the tiny kid – man – clambering up into Bucky’s obnoxious euphemism for a penis.

“I’ll see you later tonight, Steve,” Bucky said, voice both fond and distant. “I gotta get back to work.”

“Yeah, man. See ya.”

The little kid had crawled out of the corner and was now sitting at the desk, spinning slowly in the chair. “You can have another brownie if you want,” the kid said.

Because he was hungry, and because they were fucking good, Steve did so. “So why’re you here, kid? Are you a kid? Should I be calling you a teenager or something?”

“I’m twelve,” the kid said, rolling his eyes. “Us short people need to stick together. I man the desk.”

That gave Steve pause. “You… man the desk?”

“Yup.”

Steve looked worriedly around the dingy and sparse office, and then back into the garage bay. “Should I call CPS or something?”

“Naw. I’m homeschooled. Tony’s a great teacher.”

“ _Tony_?”

The kid jerked a thumb at the garage door. “Tony. My guardian? The mechanic?”

Steve stared at the kid in absolute shock. “That mechanic… is your _guardian_?”

Before he could say anything else, the mechanic – Tony – came in and eyed Steve strangely. Already put off by the guy’s demeanor and the fact that this guy not only used child labor but was apparently the _guardian_ of said child, Steve snapped, “What?”

“Dude, when Harley said bike, I thought he meant, you know, pedal-and-cards-in-the-spokes bike, not that sweet hog out there. You ever want someone to look at it, you let me know.”

Steve glared, nabbed one more brownie, and stalked out of the garage’s office.

***

“Tony seemed to really have gotten you in a snit,” Bucky murmured, sprawled out on the couch with his biker boots kicked up on the arm and his head in Steve’s lap, idly flipping through channels.

“He has a _kid_.”

Bucky shrugged. “Kid’s pretty great with him, and he’s good with the kid. He’s not a bad guy. Genius with machines. Amazing cook.”

Steve stopped, remembering those delicious pastries and how he wished he had grabbed more than just that one when he left. “Cook?”

“Yeah. Tony cooks when he’s stressed, apparently, and he brings shit in for his customers. Why, was there something in the office today?” Bucky craned his head, the piercings in his eye and lip catching the light.

Steve sighed. “He could open up a professional store with those kinds of desserts, you know. Like, not even kidding. Natasha and Pepper would kill to have him in their café.”

Bucky laughed and wiggled into the couch. “He knows Pepper. She’s been trying to get him to come on their staff permanently, but all he does at the moment is bake every so often and take a pretty small cut. His stuff sells out pretty fast.”

Steve thought back to Natasha and Pepper’s café – Pride and Pastries – and tried to figure out which of their desserts might have come from the wild-haired mechanic with the cutting brown eyes. “How – how is he a mechanic? In that grungy shop?”

“He’s amazing when it comes to machines and shit,” Bucky said easily, but the corner of his mouth quirked slyly. “He’ll be there at Thor’s party tomorrow.”

Steve looked down at Bucky and frowned. “Why would he be?”

“Because he and Arthur are longtime buddies? Because he’s a pretty cool guy? I bet he’ll bring something to eat. His chocolate raspberry truffle cheesecake is to die for.”

Steve narrowed his eyes at Bucky. “Are you and the gang trying to set me up on _another_ date?” he demanded.

Laughing, Bucky rolled off of Steve’s lap, onto the floor, and sprung to his feet. “Maybe we’re trying to set _him_ up, ever think of that?”

***

“You’ve got to try some of this.”

Steve took the plate shoved at him and smiled at… James. He knew James only tangentially, as Sam’s Air Force buddy and Bucky’s on-again, off-again lover. He was usually deployed or on base, but the few times he’d joined Bucky and Steve and their group of friends for a night on the town, Steve pegged him for a good guy. “What is it?” he asked, staring at the mess on the plate. Thankfully, the kitchen was nowhere near the pounding of the front room and basement where Arthur – known affectionately as Thor by his closest friends – was getting trashed in preparation for his wedding tomorrow, so the noise level here was comfortable enough that he and James didn’t have to shout at one another to be understood.

“It’s the last of the bourbon pecan pie.” James grinned wide, teeth flashing in his face in a way that looked almost predatory. “I really want you to try it – scraped up every bit of it left to make sure you had a good taste, emptied the vanilla ice cream container for it.”

“Did you make it?” Steve asked curiously, using the fork to take a bite. The pie crust flaked in his mouth, the gooey inside melted richly, and he groaned deep in his throat as he savored the flavor. “Fuck. That’s really good.”

“I didn’t make it,” James said, and Steve was not a stupid man, he knew what his friends were trying to do and he got that they were looking out for him, but really, he could figure out his own dates, thank you.

…But damn, this man knew how to cook.

The kitchen door swung open, letting in a pounding beat, and Steve caught a glance of wild hair, brown eyes rimmed in kohl, lip gloss-covered lips, a tight button-up t-shirt and sinfully tight slacks, and his mind went blank.

“ _He_ did,” James finished smugly, turned on his heel, shoved the man – Tony – at Steve, and disappeared from the kitchen.

They stared at one another a long moment, and then the kid – Tony – rubbed the back of his neck. “Ah. I was – looking for another bottle of – beer.”

“You still have grease in your nails,” Steve said faintly.

Tony eyed him, bristling a little. “You still look like a preppy, pretentious—”

“The brownies were – amazing,” Steve said hurriedly.

Tony, cut off, opened his mouth but apparently didn’t really have a response to that.

“And this pie. This pie is great.” Steve continued, aware that he was babbling, not quite sure if he cared.

Tony bit his lip. “I’m – glad you liked it.” He looked a little bewildered and confused before saying slowly, “I made it with you in mind. You – you’re really skinny. You need to eat more.”

“I eat a lot at Pride and Pastries,” Steve offered. “I – I’ve probably eaten more of your stuff and just didn’t notice. It’s really good, though. I liked – I liked the pie. And the brownies.”

After a couple of minutes, Tony grinned, and that smile lit up his body, made his face glow like nothing else, and if Steve hadn’t already half fallen in love with this man’s cooking and how good he looked cleaned up and yet still smudged at the edges, that smile would have done it. “Here, give me your phone,” he said, and Steve dumbly passed his iPhone over.

“You have an awesome bike, well-cared for, and I kinda wanna mess you up a bit, see where this goes,” Tony said casually, fingers flying over the iPhone. “I’ll text you when I next make something for Pepper and Natasha, how’s that?”

Steve nodded absently. “You wanna head over to the balcony and talk?”

“Thor has a balcony?” Tony asked in surprise.

(There wasn’t as much talking as Steve had planned.)

***

“Your phone’s vibrating.”

Steve came out of a reading-induced haze and picked up his phone – the newest model of the iPhone. It took him a moment to unlock it and then he stared bleary-eyed at the text – and smiled.

Janet propped her chin up with her palm. “Is this your mysterious boyfriend?”

“He’s driving by campus – with coffee. And blackberry-apple upside-down cake. He wants to know if you and I want to meet him by the library.”

Janet stared at him a moment before snarling and standing up, snapping her laptop closed. “I’m going to gain _so much weight_ because of you, Steven Grant Rogers, and when I can’t fit in my wedding dress and Hank asks me why I won’t marry him _I am going to point at your boyfriend and blame him_.”

**Author's Note:**

> In order, the desserts I were thinking of were:
> 
>  
> 
> [Peanut Butter Truffle Brownies](http://www.bettycrocker.com/recipes/peanut-butter-truffle-brownies/c5c602e4-007b-43e0-aaab-2f9aed89524c)
> 
>  
> 
> [Chocolate Raspberry Truffle Cheesecake](http://www.cooks.com/recipe/za1ti8m7/chocolate-raspberry-truffle-cheesecake.html)
> 
>  
> 
> [Bourbon Pecan Pie](http://www.recipelion.com/Pies/Bourbon-Pecan-Pie)
> 
>  
> 
> [Blackberry Apple Upside-Down Cake](http://www.southernliving.com/food/entertaining/22-top-rated-dessert-recipes/easy-blackberry-apple-upside-down-cake)
> 
>  
> 
> Yes, I may actually continue this series in the (far) future.


End file.
